


in her hands, to dissect at will

by JulisCaesar



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Rape, also just straight up rape, this is not a fluffy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulisCaesar/pseuds/JulisCaesar
Summary: Imperiatrix Romana is possessive, jealous, and all-powerful. The technician Rodan is none of these things, but has a relationship with Romana's bodyguard. Too bad for Rodan that Romana found out.
Relationships: Romana II/Rodan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	in her hands, to dissect at will

**Author's Note:**

> I'd say I'm un-anoning this from the kinkmeme, but what I've really done is taken something I wrote for the kinkmeme in 2013, completely rewritten it, added 3000 more words of complete trash, and am now posting it without betaing or even a reread.
> 
> The tags are not an exaggeration and I may have forgotten something. Take care.

Romana smiled as she entered her suite. Leela had been successfully dispatched to Coordinator Narvin with instructions to amuse herself, something she would no doubt do with delight. Romana was not a jealous woman—well, she was not when it was her idea—and it pleased her to give Leela a reward. The human was a useful tool and a pleasurable toy, but there were some things Romana had to do on her own.

This, for one. The doors whirred shut behind her and she scanned the woman standing in the centre of the room. She already knew everything about her, of course, but it was always good to remind herself. Name, caste, House, job, goals, past, future—the Matrix was a delightful resource—there was nothing hidden from her eye.

The technician shivered, gaze lowered. She looked like some vulnerable newborn creature, unsteady on her legs, too weak and scared to move. Easy prey. "Madam Imperiatrix." She did something that may have been a bow or curtsy or something in between, and then froze, even beyond shivering now.

"Technician," Romana said, quiet, clipped, and ostensibly polite. Why use the name if you didn’t have to? Names personified them, and she didn’t want this one to cling onto the illusion that she was a person.

The silence stretched. It pleased Romana to watch the technician squirm, inside and out, twitch a little, move a little, fold her fingers first in front of her, then behind her, look down, look away, look anywhere but at Romana. The fear was palpable, and Romana was content to let it grow.

"Please, my lady, the guards brought me here," the technician said in a rush, shaking from head to toe.

 _Rassilon_ but Romana wanted to break her now. Push her up against a wall and peel her defenses off along with her skin, end this silly, stupid little game.

But the game only had value if played to the end, and Romana was nothing if not controlled. So she watched the technician.

"They brought me," she said in a jumble, and made a little whimpering noise, most likely by accident, as she tried to collect her thoughts. "I swear, I did not know these were your rooms—I tried to leave, but they would not let me, my lady, _please-_ "

Maybe there was merit to a direct approach after all. She crossed to a decorative table—a gift from Braxiatel, evidently it had value in some alien culture—and pulled off her gloves. "I told them to bring you."

The technician’s eyes fixated on her bare hands. Ah, she had heard the stories after all. That was one thing Romana had not quite been sure about; so few people wished to confirm to the Imperiatrix the vile rumors they had heard—or started—and even from her darling, beloved spies, there was only so much they could know about the world of one pathetic little technician. "Madam Imperiatrix—if I may ask-"

"No," Romana said coolly, and turned on her heel so her robes spun out around her, gold on white and every stitch perfect. "You may not ask."

The technician went still again, as if by controlling herself she could somehow change the outcome of this game.

"I am not interested in your questions," Romana said, stepping towards the technician. If she wanted someone who would ask questions, she would be playing with Coordinator Narvin, who was incessant. But for all his fascinating attributes, it was remarkably hard to _scare_ Narvin. "I am interested in _you_."

The technician flinched a little, as if stung. Perhaps she was. In all her explorations of the Matrix, Romana had not bothered to quantify the number of times Time Lords spoke to the technician in that sharp tone.

She reined herself in, just slightly. How much more satisfying would it be to play this to the end, how much more _delicious_ would it be to wreck her after giving her hope? And what a delightfully _twisted_ hope. But for that, the technician had to trust her, just a little.

She came up with a gentle, kind, inviting tone, the sort she hadn’t used for, oh Rassilon, centuries perhaps, the sort she only remembered using in order to entice Leela into her bed in the first place. "I employ a number of Gallifreyans whose purpose is as personal servants. Recently I have become aware of the need for one more."

Rot, of course. She did rely on servants for some things, but not in the way she was insinuating to the technician. For those things she preferred a personal touch—adoring or terrified, it didn’t really matter.

But the technician’s records said she was intelligent, and she correctly linked their location, Romana’s bare hands, and the dangling statement. "You _jest!_ " she said in entirely Gallifreyan outrage.

Intelligence, Romana thought fondly, leashing the urge to slap the technician, pin her to the wall, dig her nails into her face and _pull_ , was not the same thing as common sense. "I do not," she said, clinging onto the mild tone. Leela would say something pithy about not scaring rabbits. Romana thought only of the larger plan, the goal, which would be—not _spoiled_ , but lessened if she struck now.

The technician was a shade nearly to match her pale pink robes. "Madam Imperiatrix," and how interesting was it, that the more personal _my lady_ had ceased? "I don’t—I have no experience with...that."

It was so much fun when they tried to lie. Romana moved a step closer, into the technician’s personal space, and watched in delight as the technician struggled to lean away without stepping back. "Oh?" Such a sweet tone, so innocent and curious, and she smiled as she came in for a strike. "None at all, Rodan?"

Rodan’s face was deliriously easy to read, and Romana fancied she could feel the technician’s stomach sinking. "Just..." She looked away, chewing on her lower lip. "Only twice, and they were with Leela," she said, as if that was a good thing, as if that would _save_ her, as if her connection to the Imperiatrix’s alien pet was a source of safety rather than the sole reason she was here in the first place.

Romana moved into Rodan’s space again, this time until the technician backed into the wall—and then another step. This was scandalously close for Gallifreyans: She could see the slightly panicked rise and fall of the technician’s chest, hear her breath start and catch. And she could reach out and take the technician’s chin in one hand and hold it fast, so she couldn’t turn away.

"Do you want to see her again?" Romana asked, still, _still_ sweet, still charming, maintaining the illusion in her voice even as her body invaded the technician’s privacy.

The technician—oh, she’d said it, she may as well— _Rodan_ was frozen stiff, absolutely paralyzed, caught between the wall and a starving predator, and she was finally starting to realize that there were no right answers. "Yes," she said faintly, perhaps accepting that the truth was the best of her bad options.

Romana let herself curl her fingers under Rodan’s jaw, pressing them into the soft flesh there, but not digging her nails in, not yet. "Then you’re going to do whatever I say, aren’t you?"

She rather thought Rodan would be shaking if she could, and she was sweating in terror and her eyes were wide and white like a corpse’s. "Yes," she said again, even more faintly.

Which simply wouldn’t do. She moved her thumb down to flick at Rodan’s lips, and was pleased at the way the technician put up no resistance, and even licked back clumsily. "Be polite," she said, light and airy, the disapproving tutor to the struggling but earnest pupil.

"Yes, Madam Imperiatrix," the technician said, just barely firm enough.

Romana patted her cheek. "Lovely. Undress." She stepped back and folded her arms, leaving Rodan leaning against the wall, expression slack and posture tense. Poor dear. It was going to get so much worse.

The technician tugged on the fingers of one glove, and then stopped, caught between her sense of self-preservation and the warped mass of instincts that Rassilon had given them in lieu of other species' sexual urges. Good Gallifreyans didn't have sex, which was messy and sticky, and came with the paired sins of being unclean and being associated with aliens. Even in the silly little televid dramas beloved by the lower castes, unless they were _horribly_ transgressive, the most anyone wanted to film was skin contact. It was very likely that Rodan's encounters with Leela were the only times the technician had ever been involved in any act more titillating than those much criticized scenes where an actor touched another's cheek with bare hands.

Which, really, made this situation all the more delicious. Romana had a sex drive, and found it no more alien than her equally abnormal intelligence; unusual among Gallifreyans but not unheard of. Usually, though, they discreetly found each other and formed small groups. Usually they weren't Lord President.

At any rate, the order had paralyzed Rodan, which was moderately annoying and not producing at all the right results. It was also, however, fascinating and delightful in equal measures, and an excellent excuse to escalate the physicality.

It took only one step to bring her into Rodan's personal space again, a second step to press the technician back against the wall. She pressed one hand into the technician's hip, and grabbed onto the technician's hair with the other, tearing it free from the tight bun and yanking her head sideways. Rodan made a _delightful_ noise of protest and shock, but didn't resist.

Romana intended to repeat the order, but she had just exposed a stretch of neck, and Rodan stood there, leaning to one side to lessen the strain on her head, in a way that accentuated the lines of muscle from her jaw to her collarbone. With no reason to refrain, Romana kissed the edge of that muscle, gently, just brushing her lips over the soft skin. Then she licked it, and pulled the hair with her hand to give herself a better angle, and the skin tasted of salt and fear. It was delicious, so she sank her teeth in, not to bleed, just to produce-

Rodan yelped, and then froze, in the way of an animal who thinks it has caught the attention of a predator and is no longer sure which way to run.

Romana sealed her lips to the skin and sucked, hard enough to burst the tiny, delicate capillaries and leave a widening blot of red on the technician's body. The first mark; one of many.

Her hand twisted in Rodan's hair and she pulled away, watching the technician hang limply at the end of her arm, like a puppet wielded by a puppeteer who does not care enough to make it look real. "Next time," Romana said, thinking about all of the other marks she could leave on the technician, "obey me instantly." She released Rodan's hair and took the tiniest step back.

The technician staggered to the side, stripping her gloves off as she did. The outer robes came next, yanked gracelessly over her head and left crumpled on the floor. The technician stood, wringing her hands, in a faded pink shift and soft shoes. "Should I—should I fold them?" Her throat worked silently. "Madam Imperiatrix."

As if she cared. "Leave it," she said, not as if to a dog, but in the tone of one who really, genuinely, has better things to worry about and would rather that you worried about them too.

The technician was shaking hard enough that she had to fumble for her shift, and Romana waited in undisguised impatience. Eventually she dropped it on top of the robes, and slipped her shoes off next to them.

Romana looked her up and down as the technician stood, hands clasped in front of her, visibly shivering. She was well-muscled for a technician, who generally tended to lassitude, which might explain why she had so captivated Leela. Otherwise she was unremarkable: Well proportioned, no deformities or scars, nothing shaved or painted to change her appearance. All incredibly typical of the mid-rank Gallifreyan that she was. And all, to Romana, who had a marked interest in the exotic, incredibly _boring_.

There was something of interest in the way Rodan made no attempt to cover herself, despite being red with embarrassment, or how she was still hesitant and resistant even though they both knew who held all the power. Romana almost wanted to take that nugget of fascination and dig it out of Rodan's chest, leave the technician bloody and dying on the floor while Romana had her individuality cupped, still beating, in her hands to dissect at will.

Perhaps she would do that later.

Romana had rather liked the implications of pressing the technician up against a wall, so she did so once more. Rodan went from red to white, and seemed to be holding herself still by concerted effort. Putting one hand on the technician's chest, just below the collarbone, she used the other to tip her chin up.

"Don't look so terrified," Romana whispered in her ear. "It can't get any worse." She set her teeth to the curve of the technician's jaw, digging them in, enjoying the salt on her skin, and the way Rodan tried, vainly, to pull away.

She worked on the edge of the technician's jaw for a moment, pulling the skin between her teeth and sucking hard, then licking the new bruise. It was very, very tempting to stay here and worry at the skin until the hickey was deep red and the size of her palm, but alas, Romana had better plans. She bit just a little harder, so the technician made an injured noise, and then pulled back—slightly, just enough to look at the technician and the way she was flushed and wide-eyed, the way she knew better than to resist and couldn't help herself, the way her hands were pressed flat against the wall so she wouldn't do anything _treasonous_... Yes, Rodan was a sight.

Romana left her hand splayed on the technician's chest, pressing into her ribs hard enough to make pale skin paler, and brought the other down, down her neck, down her chest, pausing long enough to grab a nipple and twist it so that Rodan made a low strangled noise and jerked forward, and then down some more. She raked her nails Rodan's stomach just to watch her squirm and wrestle between the horrible, awful choice of allowing herself to be raped, to be _violated_ , or acting against the Lord President, who held Gallifrey in her hands.

And then she turned her hand over and dug into the technician's mound, that warm, vulnerable patch where very few Gallifreyans were ever touched, and she _clawed_ , and Rodan yelped, and went up on her toes to try and escape—but she didn't struggle, and she didn't step to the side, because she could well guess what the consequences would be.

"Have you never played with pain before?" Romana asked, knowing full well that the technician had not, that the most Leela had ever done was hold her down gently, and that the cruelest questions came in the guise of innocence.

The technician, silent, shook her head and stared fixedly past Romana.

Romana smiled, and slipped her hand between the technician's legs, pressing against her core and finding it wet. "You will answer when I ask you a question." She stroked her fingers just at the entrance, not pressing in, but spreading the slick around without ever, really, giving the technician anything but a faint touch.

After a moment to choke down arousal or horror, or more likely a mixture of both, the technician said quietly, "I have not, Madam Imperiatrix."

She would have to do something about that polite composure. It simply would not do for the subject of her interest to still be capable of expressing disagreement. She slid her fingers back and forth in the technician's channel, still never quite entering her core, but leaving everything wet and frictionless. Perhaps without realizing it, the technician rolled her hips to get a better angle, and Romana closed the distance again, intending to take full advantage of that heartsbeat of acceptance.

She pressed two fingers in past the inner lips—that far and no further—and continued stroking. "Do you want to be my handmaiden?" She had no intention of making the technician into anything but a toy, nor did she need any handmaidens at all. The implications were _delicious_ , however, and anything that put the technician off-balance was to be savored.

One of Rodan's hands came down from the wall and gently, cautiously wrapped around Romana's wrist in order to pull her fingers further in.

Romana stopped all movement and looked the technician in the eye.

"Bold of you to demand anything." She walked her other hand down the technician's chest to her small breasts, brushing her fingers over one before switching and digging her nails into the other.

Rodan froze and swallowed, face leaden with shame and terror. "I apologize, Madam Imperiatrix."

Romana ran her lower fingers in the soft space between the inner and outer lips. "Answer the question." She flicked the technician's nipple out of curiosity, and was rewarded with a flinch.

Breaths short, eyes now shut, the technician looked torn. "Will—will I get to see Leela again?"

Humming, Romana pinched the nipple, and then twisted it until the technician's eyes flew open and she gasped in pain. "Answer the question," Romana repeated in the same tone.

Rodan stared at her, eyes wide and such a plain, boring brown; honestly, she should be flattered that Romana was spending any time on her at all. "I-yes, m-my lady."

Romana pressed her thumb into the technician's clit and released the nipple in favor of digging her nails into the technician's side. "Yes what?"

The technician whimpered, trying to pull away and get closer at the same time. She was starting to glisten with sweat, and the place between her legs was wet and slick as Romana started to rub with her thumb. "I-I-I-my lady, I, I will be y-your handmaiden."

"That's not what I asked," she said, smiling. One hand remained stroking gently between the technician's legs, and the other came up to touch her temple, just outside the orbital of her eye.

The technician wasn't as stupid as she looked, because now she really struggled, trying to shove off the wall and away from Romana. She just moved closer instead, forcing the technician back against the wall without touching her. The technician ducked and swung out with one hand, trying to get Romana away enough that she could run for it. Romana grabbed the hand and twisted it back, putting strain on the technician's wrist, and then stepped in again, getting one leg between the technician's. She leaned forward, pinning the technician's hand against the wall—still twisted, _my_ , that had to hurt—and grinding her hips into Rodan's.

Again the technician froze, looking away, her breaths coming faster than they should, no doubt from fear. "Please—please-" She didn't say what.

Romana generously let go her wrist and brought both hands up to press her nails into the smooth skin on Rodan's temples. "Have you forgotten the question?" she asked, low and smooth and dangerous, knowing that she was so very close to her prize and wanting, now, only to finish the game.

"N-no..." Her eyes rolled back and forth; she didn't dare move her head, plainly scared of what Romana would do now. "I w-w-want to be your handmaiden."

She kissed her, gentle, bringing her hands to cup the technician's jaw. "Very good," she said with their lips still pressed together.

Rodan shook, not pulling away or otherwise moving, but little fearful shakes, like some small animal at the claws of a predator.

"Of course, you can't be," Romana said, pulling away suddenly. "You understand, I am sure. Appearances must be kept up, and the Imperiatrix simply cannot have a technician as a handmaid." She stepped back, so there was space between them, and left Rodan staring at her, reddened, scared, and confused.

After a moment, the technician took a hesitant, stumbling step towards her. "My lady, I-, I did not mean-"

Gracious, graceful after years of repetition, Romana swooped back in. "Oh, but of course I will not abandon you," she said, tipping Rodan's chin up gently. "You just cannot have that title." And then, before Rodan could get her wits together enough to say that was not what she meant at all, Romana touched her temples again and said, "Contact."

It felt like falling into space, but only because the technician's mind was so small and helpless. Romana descended upon it and wrapped it in herself and held it there, a tiny bit of dirt wrapped in cloth that she could pull open and inspect.

Outside their joined minds, Rodan screamed.

Romana teased open her mind, putting tendrils here and there, pushing things, pulling others, and generally arranging it to her satisfaction. It was merely a bonus that this made Rodan wail and thrash even as she was unable to move her head from where Romana's fingers dug into it.

Eventually she pulled back, leaving the threads connecting them, but letting the technician have back her mind and body.

The technician fell to her knees, trembling all over, skin white. She made a low moaning noise and remained there on the floor, holding herself up with shaking arms.

"Touch yourself." Romana unfastened the top layer of her robes, and then paused to watch.

It was clear Rodan didn't want to, and equally clear that Romana had finally gotten through to her the simple fact that her wants no longer mattered. Slowly, she touched a finger to her own clit, lightly, perhaps not feeling it as more than a teasing brush. That was fine—the technician never was going to get herself off. That had never been the plan. This was just one more step, one more move closer to the goal.

Finally naked herself, Romana stepped close to her and rested a hand on her head. "Good girl."

Rodan looked up at her, so fragile and weak, just a technician, barely even able to regenerate—Romana could crush her and not notice. They both knew this; it added to the delight Romana felt when she made Rodan take part in her own destruction.

"Stand up."

The technician wouldn't—or couldn't—move fast enough for her liking, so Romana solved the problem for her, taking her by the arm and throwing her back against the wall again. "That wasn't a choice, Technician."

For all her faults, Rodan was neither slow nor stupid. She didn't move to cover herself, or try to step away from the wall. In a moment, she was breathing almost normally, and her fear was only betrayed by the way her eyes flickered and the strain on her face—and the sweet, thick presence of terror in Romana's mind.

Romana leaned in and held the technician against the wall, pressing their foreheads together. "See how nice I can be, when you cooperate," she said, and slipped her fingers down, between the technician's legs, to the warm, wet heat and in there.

Rodan went very still, and they were pressed so close Romana could hear the way her breath caught and the tiny noises she made as Romana curled her fingers and pressed them in, coating them in the wet, rubbing against the soft flesh at the front. Romana knew from her pilfered memories of Rodan's encounters with Leela—how tame! Leela must be absolutely enamoured with this technician to be so complacent in bed, and Romana would have to ask her what about this thing provoked such a reaction—that this movement would not be enough to bring Rodan to any sort of release, but rather peak at an unbearable messy _need_. She had every intention of seeing that for herself.

It didn't take long for the technician to jerk her hips, looking for more, but Romana was not to be tempted. She kept her fingers sliding, moving agonizingly over the tender spot right where the inner lips met, occasionally flicking into the vulva. Wiser now, clearly, the technician said not a word, but stared at her, trying with her limited telepathy to make contact no doubt. Romana had no intention of complying. She already held the lines necessary to twist Rodan this way or that depending on her mood. Any further connection would be merely degrading.

When the technician was near constantly moving, but still refraining from making noise or attempting to leave the wall, Romana judged it time to move on. "Kneel for me," she said, leaning forward, almost so their chests touched, and stilled her fingers so they pressed only lightly against the technician's lower lips.

Rodan shook, frozen in place by a cruel relic of evolution that convinces prey of their safety if they do not flee. Not that fleeing would accomplish anything for the technician, of course, but that she didn't even _try_ was pathetic. Jaw clenched tight, the technician looked at Romana with no pleading expression, no hope of mercy or release, but a stubborn resistance. The loss of hope was pleasing; the stubbornness rather less so.

It took very little effort—rather less than breathing, in fact—to twist the connection in her mind and drop the technician to a kneeling position. With how close they were pressed, this meant the technician's head bumped against the walls and her breasts rubbed against Romana's body on the way down. Romana considered it the natural consequence of disobedience, and took the technician's hair in her hands.

"You have a choice, you realize," she said, twisting the hair around one finger. When it went taut, the technician made a _fascinating_ noise, so Romana pulled it several more times, silky strands tightening around her fingers as she coaxed unwilling whimpers from the technician's throat. Quickly she bored of this development, and released the hair, only to dig her nails into the technician's scalp and force her head to look up. "You may cooperate and obey, or you will be forced. Which will it be?"

Gasping, throat working, Rodan stared up at her. "Please—please, Madam Imperiatrix-"

 _Fool_.

Holding onto her hair with one hand, Romana took a step back to examine her captive properly. The technician had realized this was not the right answer and fell silent again, unable to look away. Without warning, Romana backhanded her across the face, hard enough to throw her sideways; the only reason she remained upright was Romana's hand still fisted in her hair. The pain was surely incredible and for just a moment Romana indulged, reaching down those lines between them to feel the hot pain flashing over Rodan's cheek, the way her nose crunched at the force, how her neck cramped at the sudden halt. Despite this, Rodan made not a noise and her gaze remained fierce.

"So be it." With no concern for retaliation, Romana pulled the technician's face close to her and at the same time pulled the strings, this one and that, so that Rodan complied and pressed her tongue flat against Romana's slit.

She had been wet almost since the moment the technician arrived, and every step in this had been planned, every eventuality worked out, to leave her slick and ready for an unwilling tongue to run, back to front, first slowly and then, under Romana's direct guidance, speeding up, until she came up against the physical limitations of a technician's body. That was quite enough to leave Romana rocking against the technician's face, dragging her clit over Rodan's nose and occasionally making her lick it. When Romana had had enough teasing, she brought one of the technician's hands up and inserted two fingers into her vagina, pressing the technician's fingers forward against the sensitive area there, while having the technician suck firmly on her clit.

It was exactly enough, it was perfect, to send her spiraling and clenching onto the technician's hair, using her as a support as the sensations built and crested. She was not, had never been, particularly vocal in bed and saw no need to start now; nor did she require an extensive refractory period. She built up, she orgasmed, she recovered, repeat.

Only this time, the pleasure from tormenting her victim nearly exceeded any form of physical release.

"Get on the bed." Romana released the technician and stepped away, working the kinks out of her fingers where she had held on too tight.

Rodan did not protest or, for once, hesitate; she merely gave her a shattered look and bolted for the bed. Her legs had cramped from kneeling and she wobbled like one of Narvin's interrogation subjects—for much the same reason, Romana reflected, but to more pleasant results—but she made it to the bed without issue and laid down on her stomach.

Romana sighed in exasperation. "On your back." She approached the bed as the technician rolled over—and put her legs together, crossing her arms over her chest. Little idiot. Romana traced down the threads connecting them, and put her hand flat on Rodan's chest. It was simple, like that, to access her mind on the level of the physical rather than the mental and make the appropriate changes. Connect some neurons there, lower a neurotransmitter there, disable that synapse completely: Piece by piece, Romana worked her way through the technician's mind and made it exquisitely her own.

When she was done, what had been Rodan stared up at her in terror. The technician could feel everything—even more acutely than before, in fact—but control nothing besides her breathing and her eyes, and those Romana had only left to her out of cruelty. The rest, Romana operated like a second body, moving hands over head and clasping them and spreading legs as wide as the bed would allow.

Inside her head, Rodan's panic was delicious, aborted and conscribed as it was by her newly restricted nervous system. Romana smiled, letting the fear finally, finally translate through her into pleasure, and sitting beside the technician on the bed. Without bothering to speak—what need of warnings or threats now?—she slid two fingers deep inside the technician, curling up and stroking fast until despite everything, the technician's mind shone with arousal as much as fear.

She pushed the technician towards an orgasm, aggressively pressing against her and then looping the sensations together to create feedback. When she thought the technician ready, Romana removed the blocks on her core muscles and flicked her thumb rapidly over the technician's clit.

Rodan screamed and arched off the bed, still trapped by the mental bonds but feeling an orgasm twice, three times, then four as Romana spun it around and around, until Rodan was heaving and sobbing, unable to catch her breath and desperate for the sensations to stop. Romana cut all feeling right when she thought it might be too much altogether—it was no part of her plans for the technician to break completely—and watched in pleasure as Rodan writhed and whimpered from the aftershocks.

Satisfied—with this step, if not physically—Romana withdrew her fingers and placed them at the technician's mouth. "Lick."

The technician did without hesitation, wrapping her lips around Romana's fingers and sucking. For a moment Romana let her, enjoying the wet heat here as well, and then without warning she curled her fingers and dug the nails into her gums. The technician wailed and tried to pull away—but did not bite down.

"Do you trust me?" Romana asked, wiping her fingers on the technician's heaving chest.

The technician stared, face white, breaths rapid. She didn't move except her hands, which clenched in the bedspread. "Madam imperiatrix," she said desperately. It was a good tone on her.

Romana firmly raked her nails down the technician's side, bored with the delaying. The technician screamed and writhed away, only stopping when Romana slapped her face. "Quit whining and answer the question."

Cheeks now red, equally red lines rising on her side, the technician babbled. "Yes, yes, Madam Imperiatrix, of course-"

"Liar," Romana said sweetly. She grabbed Rodan's breast with one hand and rubbed her clit with the other. The technician shrieked but didn't try to pull away. "Why in Rassilon's name would you trust me? You would have to be an idiot. Are you an idiot, technician?"

It didn't have a correct answer, and clearly Rodan knew that. She panted, ground her hips against Romana's fingers, and stared pleadingly at her.

Romana flicked her fingers encouragingly, and released the technician's breast. "What is it about you that attracts Leela?"

Rodan recovered her wits—but not, evidently, her common sense—and said, "Are you jealous, Madam Imperiatrix?"

For a second, Romana considered flaying her. But then no, that would be too fast. Over and done, and this was such an enjoyable game. Better to do something that could be undone and redone at will, or that at least lasted for spans upon spans. With a thought, she took away muscle control again aside from automatic functions, and straddled the technician. "I think you are an idiot, but an appealingly mouthy one. Perhaps you can put that mouth to better use."

Cliché, maybe, but very fitting. It wasn't right to let her prey get off more times than she did, after all, and standing lacked something that facesitting didn't—comfort, for one. She positioned herself over Rodan's face and grabbed her hair again. The technician did at least know what to do when Romana gave her control back over her face, because she immediately started to lick—gently and then building, mostly in circles around her entry with occasional swipes over her clit. Romana left her to it, uninterested in directing her.

It didn't take long even without direction for Romana to approach the edge again, and she dug both hands into Rodan's hair as she ground down on the technician's face. Breathing was almost unnecessary for most Gallifreyans after all, even if there was an automatic struggle response. Rodan whined once, but only once, and kept up the pace until Romana backed off, replete, even if not truly satisfied.

Romana stretched out beside her, ready now to move on to the next step. If the game till now had been about humiliating Rodan, it was now time to destroy her. To fracture her self image into so many pieces she could never put herself back together. She pulled back the strands of her control and let Rodan return to her body.

The technician didn't move for a span, most likely trying to avoid bringing anything worse upon herself. Clever. Not clever enough. Romana got off the bed and examined her head to toe. Worried, marked, scared—yes, but not nearly enough yet. "Turn over. On your stomach."

The technician went white but rolled over without further hesitation. Romana had bigger plans in mind than taking her to task for a moment's involuntary reflex—especially when there were other, voluntary things she could be punished for instead.

"It was so easy to take control, wasn't it, technician," Romana said absently as she knelt on the bed, knees on either side of the technician's hips.

Perhaps she _had_ learned, because Rodan remained silent.

Romana laughed and pinched the tender skin behind the technician's armpit. Rodan writhed, but Romana had a firm enough grip to pull her up onto her knees. Despite panting from the pain, the technician didn't attempt to fight back—good. She released the technician and watched approvingly as she froze, holding herself in an upright kneeling posture that took, Romana knew, more strength than it seemed. "You think," she said, putting her arms around the technician's chest and pulling her tight, "that because Leela fucked you, she is emotionally attached to you. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth."

This was, she saw now, the right tactic to take. Rodan struggled momentarily, without really trying to break free, and said, in a strained, tight voice, "What does that mean for _you_ then?"

Romana laughed and dug her nails in, not really caring where. At this point, anywhere would do, and indeed did—the technician squirmed and grunted, trying to suppress any more telling noises. "For Rassilon's sake, as if I care. Why would I want her to be _emotional_? She's messy enough as it is. No, no. Your past history with Leela will do you no favours here."

This time the technician, wisely, kept her mouth shut.

It was too late for her. It had been too late since she walked in the door, or since she had decided to dally with Leela in the first place; that had been what had drawn Romana's eye to her. But any potential flexibility in her fate had vanished when she had been _mouthy_. It was all very well and good to deconstruct pets, but they should have the decency to _remain_ deconstructed, and not continue to draw dregs of stubbornness from a dry well.

Romana released her again and shoved her down on all fours with a hand to the back of her neck. "Leela is not yours, as you should well be aware," she said conversationally. Before Rodan responded, she took the technician's hand and twisted it painfully up behind her back, making her balance and grunt quietly. "No more are you _hers_. Do you know whose you are?"

Again no response, so Romana wrapped her hand around the technician's neck and squeezed. "You're no one's. Leela is _mine,_ because she has value. You, though? You have nothing. Just a brain too insignificant to worry about and a body to carry the brain in. I'm shocked your House bothered with Looming you."

Rodan twitched, jerking against Romana's hands, but did not, yet, speak. Nor was she trying to make contact; her mind felt withdrawn and shut down. Disassociating, perhaps—disappointing.

"You don't deserve Leela. You don't _deserve_ her and she's an _alien_. So what does that make you? Even most technicians are worth something, but somehow you have degraded. Lost your way, perhaps. Become worthless. Less than worthless, if such a thing is possible." She let go of Rodan's neck and returned that hand to the technician's clit instead, rubbing roughly with no care for pain.

The technician squirmed; less, Romana thought, because she wanted to get away, and more because she _had_ to. She was finally approaching the point where sensation blurred and overtook sense; the point Romana had been driving her towards ever since she walked in the room.

Romana bent over the technician and bit her, hard, in the space where her neck joined her shoulder, digging her teeth in until the technician moaned and tried again to pull away. Laughing, Romana sat up and let her go, only to watch Rodan lay flat and panting on the bed. "I could _kill_ you right now and nobody would care." It was a delight to watch the technician writhe when she pinched her sides, hard, hard enough to leave pale crescents embedded in her skin when she pulled back. "It would even be simple."

She found the point where the technician moaned and jerked in combined anxiety and arousal, somewhere just above her hips, and held on fast. "I would find another technician—there's scads of them, that would be the easiest—hand them your biodata, and force them to regenerate. And meanwhile, you disappear. Nobody even knows you're gone. Nobody _cares_."

Somehow Rodan found the wherewithal to turn over on her back and glare up at her. "Leela does," she said stubbornly.

Romana backhanded her across the face, hard enough to snap her head to the side. She let her rage free to envelop the technician's tiny, weak mind and bore down hard; beneath her, the technician whimpered but Romana didn't care for that. Grabbing the technician's face, sinking her nails into vulnerable skin around eyes and ears, Romana hissed, "I could wipe her mind of you."

Moaning, the technician finally gave up all hope and lay limply.

Perfect, Romana thought, and released the technician's face only to sink three fingers up to the knuckles between her legs. The technician shrieked and writhed, but Romana put her other hand on her chest and pressed. "Tell me what you see in her," she said casually, curling her fingers and dragging them against the sensitive tissue.

White with terror, the technician babbled inanities, things which Romana cared little a bout and had never noticed in her bodyguard before. That wasn't the point. The heat around her fingers and the way Rodan jerked and sobbed every time she pressed harder or deeper was.

Finally she grew bored and moved to bring this farce to a fitting climax. She grabbed the technician's clit and twisted, making her scream. "How _dare_ you," she said, dragging her nails down the technician's side and leaving yet another set of bright red lines. "How dare you be here, in _my_ bed, and talk about my bodyguard in such a fashion."

The fact that this was inconsistent didn't matter, and Rodan knew it. "M-madame Imperiatrix?" she said, having decided that speaking was, at least, no more dangerous than remaining silent.

She wasn't wrong, Romana knew, twisting a hand in the technician's hair. Matters were already as bad as they could get. "You are in my _bed_ , and yet you compliment others? I am the President of Gallifrey and here you are, commending an _alien_. One could interpret that as deliberate disrespect, _Technician_."

The technician shook, eyes wide and starting to tear over. She tried to cover her face, no doubt knowing it, but Romana moved faster. She pinned the technician's wrists and kissed her, hard and nasty, ending with a punishing bite to her lip.

"Oh, you are _useless_ ," Romana said, pleased, and grabbed Rodan around the neck, making her gasp. "Your training was completely wasted on you. I can't imagine why you were graduated, let alone employed. Rassilon knows we would be better off without you." She shifted and drove one knee up between the technician's legs, right where it could do the most good.

While Rodan was quiet and staring, Romana left the one hand on her neck—not tightly, just pressing—and put the other to her temple. "Contact," she said with vicious glee. It wasn't necessary, but it was _such_ a nice piece of melodrama, and it made Rodan start to struggle even as Romana penetrated her mind to the lowest, most basic levels.

Romana laughed and tore through mental subroutines and automatic processes with abandon. Out loud, she said, "I should do this more often. Torment you. I don't get quite the same response from Leela—she's always so willing, there's no fun in coercing her. Some nights she even waits for me, dripping wet and collared." She punctuated this by grinding her knee up, making Rodan roll her hips unconsciously.

"Of course, there are some logistical and image management implications to keeping you," Romana said, "so it's best that I dispose of you after all." With that, she severed the technician's conscious control.

There was no external reaction to the statement, but internally—oh yes. Internally the technician knew her life was over, for all intents and purposes. Internally she screamed in despair and anger, and threw her tiny reserves of focus against Romana's walls.

It was like being hit by a midge. Romana barely even felt it, and concentrated on the fine-tune work before her. A twitch here, a separation there, and whole tracts of the technician's mind laid bare before her. The technician babbled senselessly inside, but was kept from even that little action by Romana's control— _thrilling_.

"You have no idea how arousing you are, do you?" Romana mused, and connected two neurons.

Against all odds, Rodan _screamed_ , her mind looping and caught, sensation running backwards and turning in a Mobius-strip of hell.

"Very nice," Romana said, and replaced the neurons before returning to her work. It was easy to create negative feedback loops; it was harder to make one that would hold up to any future learning without utterly incapacitating the subject. This, to take positive memories and link them to negative, and create a system of thought so utterly antithetical to the technician—and do so without provoking a regeneration—her tutor would have been proud.

She finished the last connection and fully withdrew for the first time. The technician gasped—and squirmed, as new sensations came to the fore.

Smiling, Romana ran her fingers between the technician's legs. Rodan jerked away, and then tried to push closer, and at the same time _radiated_ discomfort and disgust.

"I'll let you discover all of the consequences," Romana said, rolling off her in satisfaction. "It should be comprehensive."

The technician shivered, no doubt from the tone. "What—what did you—"

It was delightful how she couldn't even form a question—or realize how foolish the question would be. Romana looked her up and down: Splotchy, red-rimmed eyes from crying, a blush that went well past her collarbone, hands clenched in the bedding and legs now reflexively pulled up. "I re-wired your memory, you idiot. And parts of your sensory cortex, but you should be aware of _that_."

"I—I'm sorry-"

"Oh, do shut _up._ " Romana shoved her off the bed, no longer interested in the game. "Get out of here. Go find Leela, why don't you, at least that would be _entertaining_."

At the name, Rodan collapsed on the floor, shrieking. Romana leaned over the bed to watch, fascinated by the results of her manipulation. For over a microspan, the technician couldn't do anything but writhe in pain—and increasingly, something else. When it ended, Rodan was flushed with arousal and shaking in terror.

"Go," Romana told her flatly.

As fast as she'd gone red, the technician went white again. Nodding frantically, she scrambled to her feet, only slightly hampered by the new tremors—those would probably die down within the next day. She did remember to grab her clothes but apparently didn't want to take the time to put them on, as she bolted out the door without stopping.

Feeling rather smug, Romana laid back and contemplated the image of Leela in just her collar.


End file.
